They know. They’ve seen the way I watch her. They’ve seen the fire I breathe when someone speaks her name wrong. They’ve all staked claims of their own. They know what it means.
Erin Monroe ismine.
Even if she doesn’t know it yet.
But I feel the shift in the air when Clive Bernardi starts whining about thevitello tonnato. Erin stands there, trying to explain, calm and professional even as that idiot sneers at her. And when he adds that comment—unless you’re on the menu—I don’t even realize I’ve moved until my chair scrapes.
“Be careful, Mr. Bernardi,” I say, my voice smooth, dangerous. “The staff here is off-limits.”
He bristles. “Didn’t know you owned the place, Lucchese.”
“No,” I reply. “But I know the value of respect.”
He doesn’t respond. Good.
But Erin, sweet, careful Erin, she defuses the moment. Like she always does. Like it’s her job to be small, to make herself manageable, to smile through the disrespect.
It makes something boil in my chest.
As she walks away, I don’t just watch her.
Istudyher.
The slight limp from too many hours on her feet. The lines of strain around her mouth. The shadows under her eyes. She’s been pushing herself past breaking for far too long, and no one seems to notice.
No one but me. Her stalker and her deadly protector.
“You gonna do something about it?” Riccardo asks under his breath.
I don’t answer.
I want to. Fuck me, I want to give her everything.
But she's too good for me. Toopure.
And I’m the devil who wants her all to himself.
Which is why I’ve kept my distance. Why I sit here, week after week, pretending not to feel what I feel. Because if I touched her, if I eventried, I’d ruin her.
But tonight, something feels different. She looks like she’s about to fall over. Pale. Tired. Like she hasn’t eaten in days. Like she’s barely holding it together. And that bastard Bernardi justlaughs.
I watch her disappear into the kitchen, jaw tight. If that sleaze touches her again, I’ll put a bullet through his knee. No one would question it. And if they did... well, I’ve dealt with worse.
“Alberto,” I say quietly.
He looks up.
“Find out everything you can about Clive Bernardi.”
He nods. “Any particular reason?”
“He disrespected my waitress.”
Riccardo whistles. “Now it’smy waitress, huh?”
I ignore him. I’m already thinking five steps ahead. I want to know where Bernardi lives, what dirt he’s buried, what leverage I can get to keep him in line, permanently.
I’d scorch the earth for her.
